


An Uninvited Guest

by vivilove



Series: Wildling Lover [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Assault, F/M, Forbidden Love, Jon is a wildling, Secret Relationship, threatened rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-30
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-12-08 17:33:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11651382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivilove/pseuds/vivilove
Summary: Jon is a Wildling and volunteers to be Mance Rayder's eyes and ears in Winterfell during King Robert Baratheon's visit.  But it is not necessarily for this purpose that Jon is so eager to go.  He longs to see the highborn maid, Lady Sansa Stark, who he met during a chance encounter a moon earlier when he stole a kiss and she stole his heart.





	1. Chapter 1

“Are you sure you want to go that far south?” Tormund asked from where they sat ‘round the fire making their plans and fletching arrows.

“Aye,” Jon answered, hoping that no one would ask him why exactly.

They’d been encamped in the hills of the New Gift half a moon. Many of their party were to return North on the morrow, beyond the Wall. But a few were being chosen to go on to Winterfell. There were rumors that had made their way North and things that Mance wanted to know. Jon wanted to please Mance but that was not the real reason he wanted to go.

For the past moon, he had not been able to rid his mind of Lady Sansa Stark. Her vivid auburn hair and how it had shone in the afternoon sun. Her blue eyes looking at him as her soft hands stroked Ghost’s white pelt with him.

She plagued him by day when he needed his wits about him. She plagued him by night. At least then, he was burrowed beneath his furs and no man or spear wife would know what he did while he thought of Sansa’s soft lips…just Ghost. And a direwolf would not make jests about a man pleasing himself alone in the night while he thought of his red-haired beauty.

He’d happened upon her by chance in the woods near Umber’s keep. She had been alone, picking flowers and singing to herself. Jon had been entranced from that moment on and watched her for a good while before he finally stole out from the brush to approach her.

She’d been frightened of him at first. Natural enough as he was one of the Free Folk, or the Wildlings as the Kneelers called them, and she was a lord’s daughter. But, Jon had quickly learned there was a bite to her tongue and she had all the spirit in the world to stand up for herself even with an armed man facing her.

They’d talked and learned a little of each other. Then, they’d shared a kiss. Well, Jon had stolen a kiss in truth though she had not objected to the stealing.

But it was hopeless and he would be better off to forget her. And now he had convinced himself that seeing her again was what he needed to remember that they were as different as the sun and moon and her beauty and smile would just be a pleasant memory to him in time.

“Mance won’t want his favorite boy going that far,” Varamyr said derisively, pulling Jon’s thoughts from Lady Sansa and back to the present.

Jon scowled at him and stood, ready to fight the man. They had never liked one another. “I’m not Mance’s boy,” he sneered.

It was true that Mance had looked after him since he was too little to remember. Sometimes, he dreamed of another man, his father more than likely, looking down at him and smiling but that was just a child’s memory.

Jon had been born south of the Wall and many of the Free Folk treated him as something lesser for it. _Some kneeler’s bastard_ , they’d say. He’d been taken in a raid as a boy by Mance himself and raised alongside Mance’s children but he was always aware he was not Mance’s son.

He did not know why he was taken. It was women and girls that the Free Folk usually stole. But Mance had taken him.

 _“Because he’s such a pretty boy, no doubt,”_ Varamyr had said once when Jon was no more than eight. _“Mance must’ve overlooked the tiny pecker between his legs and thought he’d grow into a black-haired beauty.”_

He had asked Mance once when he was younger why he had taken him. Mance had never given an answer. He’d only asked Jon if he was unhappy there amongst them. He answered that he was happy. He didn’t want Mance to think otherwise. He wanted them to accept him. He wanted them to see him as just another man of the Free Folk.

 _Someday, they’ll see that I am as much Free Folk as they are_ , he swore to himself.

Tormund bade him to sit from where he stood facing Varamyr still, hands clenched into fists. He scratched his wooly beard and said, “Well, Mance had said once not to take you further than Last Hearth…but you were younger then. It’ll be alright, I suppose. But it’s all the way to Winterfell we’re going this time and remember that those wolves are dangerous…for kneelers anyway.” He gave Jon one final appraisal and said, “The boy can go.”

 _I’m not a boy_.

Tormund meant if affectionately but Jon got tired of the big man treating him that way. Of course, to Tormund, many men looked like boys. Jon was only five and ten though and he did not voice his displeasure to a man like Tormund Giantsbane.

Jon nodded and went back to fletching his arrows. He preferred his sword or knife but arrows were better for hunting and it was safer to keep their distance at times, especially against mounted men.

The elders returned to their planning and Jon kept his mouth closed. But he did hum softly under his breath, a Southron song he’d heard a beautiful highborn maiden singing to herself alone in the woods near Last Hearth before he’d ever spoken to her…before he’d stole a kiss and she’d stolen his heart.

 

* * *

 

“Sansa,” Septa Mordane said sharply, “where is your head today, girl?”

Sansa looked up to see the septa standing before her and frowning. She looked down then at the piece of fabric in her lap where she’d been embroidering a direwolf. It was not as good as her usual work but she had been daydreaming a bit as she toiled.

“I’m sorry?” she asked, trying to figure out what she’d done wrong.

“You’ve made him white, child,” the septa said with a smile now. She looked once more and saw that she had indeed been stitching a white direwolf.

“Can’t direwolves be white?” she asked with a sniff. “The fabric is grey.”

“Yes, but to reverse your House colors…”

“Of course,” she said with a bowed head. _Bastard colors_. Her mother would not approve of that.

“Why don’t you work on another piece? Perhaps something for the Queen or Princess when they arrive?”

“Yes,” she sighed, laying down her needle. “But for now…I’d like some air,” she said. The septa nodded and started to rise. “No, you may stay. I just want a little air. I’ll return soon enough.” _I want a little freedom. Is that so much to ask?_

Sansa made her way through the keep and across the muddy yard where Robb sparred with Theon Greyjoy. She gave her brother a fleeting smile as she hurried on towards the godswood for a bit of peace and quiet.

_A white direwolf. Whatever was I thinking?_

She clasped her hands together, giggling to herself and knowing exactly what’d she been thinking of. She’d already found a small bit of red thread for his eyes. Ghost was his name and Jon was his friend.

Sansa found the heart tree and was relieved that her father was not there. They’d all been concerned about her since their return from the Umbers. Her mother said she was acting strangely. She asked if she’d met a boy she liked at Last Hearth.

 _Not a boy exactly, a man…or nearly a man. And he’s not just a man, he’s a Wildling_.

Sansa laughed aloud to picture Mother’s expression if she’d voiced that aloud. But she quickly sobered here in the silent shadow of the Weirwood. She debated about whether or not she should kneel here and possibly soil her dress. At last, she decided the gods might listen to her plea if she showed the proper respect and knelt in the damp leaves that littered the ground.

She had prayed in the Sept just this morning with her mother. But now she sought her father’s gods, the old gods. Perhaps they would know more of him.

 _Please…I should like to see him once more_.

She shouldn’t _want_ to see him. She grimaced to think how shocked her mother and father would be. Mother would be terrified if she knew of their encounter. Her father would want to take his head perhaps. But she wanted to see him all the same.

He’d stolen a kiss…though she’d dare him to do so. But Sansa suspected it was her heart the youth had truly taken with him that day.

She curled her lip in defiance at the thought.

 _You shouldn’t want to see him, wicked girl. He’s just a dirty, thieving Wildling…a murderer and rapist more than likely. The King and Queen come to Winterfell, the Crown Prince, too. Why should you care about seeing Jon again_?

How often had she had this argument over the past fortnight? Too many times to keep track. All she knew was that the answers her heart gave were always the same.

_He is not a murderer or a rapist. He is not a dirty thief though he is a Wildling. Well, perhaps he does steal but only for the good of his people. He said so. Jon would not lie. He is sweet and kind, gentle and handsome, brave and strong...and I will never be free to love him._

Sansa wept then for she knew her prayers would likely not be answered. The old gods were as deaf to her pleas as the new. She would never see Jon the Wildling again and Joffrey Baratheon rode north with his father the king. And, Mother said Sansa must do as she was bid.

_Perhaps my prince will be as handsome and noble as they say. Perhaps he will make me forget all about a young man wearing naught but skins and fur with curly, dark hair and kind, dark eyes, rough, callused hands that touched mine so carefully, full, sweet lips that kissed mine so softly. Gods, help me please. Help me forget him if I’m to go South._

For so long, that was all she had wanted…to go South. But then a chance encounter had changed all that for her. A different sort of restlessness grew within her now.  Not a longing for things to the South but a desire to see further North.  She no longer thought much of knights and tourneys.  She thought of wild men with dark eyes dressed in skins who looked at her with such longing and adoration. 

“Sansa.”

She startled to find her father standing behind her. He carried Ice and she could see his concern and surprise at seeing her in the godswood. She rarely came here. In all her fourteen years, these had never been her gods.

“Father,” she responded, rising and smiling through a veil of tears.

Ned Stark strode over to her and carefully tipped her chin up. “Why have you been crying, my daughter?”

“No good reason, Father,” she said in a lighter tone than what she felt. “I was feeling sad earlier but now I am not.”

His grey eyes sharpened and she knew he suspected a lie. Soon enough though he sighed and said, “If you are not pleased with the prince, you must tell me or your Mother so, alright?”

“Yes, Father,” she said, wondering why her father would say such a thing.

King Robert was his friend. Her mother had been hoping for a possible betrothal ever since the king had sent a raven telling them to expect the visit.

Her father kissed her forehead and patted her cheek. “Go and find your septa, love,” he murmured before he sat upon the stone by the heart tree and drew Ice across his knees.

Sansa curtsied and left her lord father alone with the old gods. She was a good girl and always tried to do as she was bid.

 

* * *

 

 

Jon shed his clothes in the Wolfswood and hurriedly put on the grey tunic, black breeches and jerkin that he had stolen a few nights earlier from a miller’s son that was heading towards Winterfell with sacks of grain. He had let the young man go and taken only his clothing.

 _Perhaps he can use one of the sacks from the grain to cover himself until he makes it home_ , Jon had thought with amusement.

Tormund had not been pleased though. He didn’t want any one reporting their presence but Jon had done the stealing on his own and it had been his decision not to kill the innocent youth.

“A good fit,” Tormund said approvingly as Jon emerged from the bushes. “You look just like a kneeler.”

Jon frowned and removed the tie from his hair.

_Will she recognize me dressed like this?_

The cloth was soft and yet not as soft as the skins and furs Jon was used to. He had nothing on under the stolen clothes, no small clothes as the kneelers would say, and the woolen breeches itched fiercely. Still, it would all be worthwhile if he could see her.

King Robert Baratheon had travelled all the way to Winterfell to meet with Lord Stark, the Warden of the North. Mance was curious to know why and to have someone present to see what news could be gathered.

Mance often spoke of a coming war and the need to protect his people. Jon wasn’t sure what all that was about as Mance spoke mostly to the elders of it but he had picked up bits and pieces of information.

There were only half a dozen men in their party and Jon was chosen to be Mance’s eyes and ears inside the castle. Tormund reckoned that Jon looked the least threatening and the most like a kneeler. He’d not appreciated the sentiment but knew it was his best chance to see Sansa. It was likely Lord Stark’s daughter rarely left the keep and when she did, he was certain she would not be alone.

With so many guests at Winterfell, it was very easy to enter the castle. There were all manner of knights, men-at-arms and squires in the King’s company. And for every one of those, there were at least two or three servants, it seemed.

A feast was being held for the king and Jon made his way to the Great Hall as though he had a right to be there…while carrying two wheels of cheese anyway. He observed what the servants did and mimicked their actions.

A trumpeter sounded a horn and Jon jumped at the sound not being used to the blaring of trumpets. It was then that Lord Stark entered escorting the queen and Lady Stark was led by King Robert.

Jon moved to the side and stood near the wall, trying to be as unnoticeable as possible. King Robert was said to be a renowned warrior who had killed Prince Rhaegar Targaryen on the Trident with his war hammer. But all Jon saw was a fat man in fine clothes already in his cups and stumbling towards the dais.

Lord Stark was another matter. He was tall and lordly looking with a stern face and intelligent grey eyes. Those eyes looked fierce at first but when he looked back over his shoulder and smiled at his lady wife, they softened.

His wife appeared rather shabbily dressed compared to the queen. Nevertheless, Lady Stark had dark red hair and blue eyes and would’ve been considered a beauty in her day. _Though not as beautiful as her daughter_ , Jon thought.

The Lannister Queen was reputed as one of the greatest beauties in all the Seven Kingdoms. Her hair was golden and she wore it up in an intricate manner. Her dress was a deep crimson and crusted with gold and jewels. Jon’s eyes boggled at the sight of such finery but when he looked at her face, he could not help but notice the haughty expression in her green eyes and the pinched displeasure that marred her face.

The queen’s brothers were in attendance as well. Ser Jaime Lannister was dressed in golden armor, his looks the masculine reflection of his sister’s. He appeared more kingly to Jon than the king himself but there was a cruelty to his smile. The Kingslayer he was called.

Her other brother followed in his elder brother’s wake. The Imp. Jon had never seen a dwarf before. He was fascinated by the little man’s mismatched eyes and could not help but stare. _Though I am not the only one that stares at least_.

Then, Jon saw _her_ and all other thoughts or impressions of the kneelers and their king went out of his head.

She wore a pretty dress but no prettier than the one she’d been wearing the day they met. Her hair was braided back from her face but mostly hung down loose. She was as lovely as a new flower.

 _Radiant_ , Jon thought. _That would perhaps be fine enough a word for her_.

But, Jon was not pleased for at her side stood a youth close to himself and Sansa in age. He was dressed finely in green and gold with a fur cloak about his shoulders. _The Crown Prince_ , Jon realized. He held Sansa’s arm and escorted her towards the dais.

Jon looked down for fear that the unbridled hatred in his eyes directed at the golden prince would draw unwanted attention. He managed to look up again after the rest of the family had made their way up to the high table.

The boy prince had a look of disdain on his face and he looked thoroughly unimpressed with the Great Hall of Winterfell. Jon had never seen such a large and impressive room in his entire life though. Hundreds of people could fit under this one roof. So much different than the huts and make-shift shelters of the Free Folk.

 _You have nothing worthwhile to offer her_ , he thought dejectedly.

“Boy,” an older man said while slapping Jon’s shoulder. “Whose House do you serve?”

“Karstark,” Jon said with barely a tremble.

They’d agreed he’d claim to be from one of the mountain clans…at least that’s what Tormund had decided. He’d figured Jon looked more like he was from further North. But once Jon had arrived he saw that only a few of the mountain lords had made the journey and the ones that did had brought very few servants with them.

The Karstarks had brought a decently large retinue though. Easier to blend in with the many.

Mance had often commended Jon’s quick wit which pleased him. He hoped his wits would be quick enough now.

“Help me with these platters,” the older servant said next.

Jon nodded and took a tray bearing mutton. He followed the older man up to the high table and tried to still the nerves in his stomach now. They served Lord Stark and King Robert, then their wives.

He moved down the line feeling self-conscious and resentful of this task, especially when he served the prince. _I am no servant_.

But when he reached Sansa, he stared at her boldly and imploringly, hoping she would notice him.

She didn’t. She glanced at the mutton and shook her head whilst chewing on her bottom lip.

“Are you sure you don’t care for mutton, milady?” he asked in a low voice.

Her head jerked up and for a moment her eyes narrowed. Apparently, servants didn’t normally urge the highborn to sample a dish.

But, much to Jon’s relief, her eyes widened just a quickly and her mouth flew open. He beseeched her with his eyes to say nothing. He was certain he had flushed scarlet though. She had recognized him. Even in his kneeler’s clothes, even here in the most unexpected of places, she recognized him…and smiled.

“Perhaps a little,” she said softly.

Jon was not much at serving. He’d nearly splattered King Robert in the mutton's juices though the man did not seem to notice.

But now, he carefully cut a serving and placed it on her plate.

A thousand questions seemed to fill her eyes but she only whispered, “Watch for me to leave.”

She’d said it so quietly Jon thought for several seconds that he had imagined it. He glanced at the people sitting on either side of her. Neither seemed to notice that she had spoken to him.

“Aye, milady,” he nodded as though she had given him some direction regarding the mutton and then he moved off to the next place, his heart pounding with hope and anticipation.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags updated.

There was music playing and raucous laughter filled the hall tonight. Men and women were forced to converse in shouts to be heard at times. The torches and candles burned merrily. It was high summer but the Northern cold crept in when the sun went down.

Wine and ale, roasted meats and vegetables were in plenty for the feast to honor the king. Sansa had even spied a platter of lemon cakes in the kitchens earlier…much to the delight of the child inside her.

Joffrey sat a few seats down from her at the high table and Sansa was grateful for it. At one time, she might’ve been quite taken with the golden youth but her eyes had been opened and she looked for the person underneath now.

Ever since she’d met Jon, she had been questioning the preconceived notions she had once held to so firmly. Part of her still tried to argue on behalf of those old opinions and beliefs but that part grew smaller every day.

Joffrey had smiled at her in the courtyard when the royal party had arrived and she’d smiled back. But then he’d made comments about Winterfell and her brother Robb and sister Arya in Sansa’s hearing that she had not liked. Sansa knew he wasn’t aware that she’d heard him but her ears were as sharp as her eyes.

 _I am no longer interested in golden youths_ , she thought.

When she’d entered the Great Hall on his arm though, she had forgotten the smug and preening prince beside her and smiled with genuine delight to see the people of Winterfell along with all their guests in their home to pay their respects to King Robert and her lord father.

Soon enough though, she was recalled to her reality and the role she had been groomed for since birth. The only role available to most highborn girls…to be a wife to a knight, a lord, or even a prince whose purpose would be to bear her husband heirs.

She sat toying with her first course in her best gown that she had made with her own hands. She felt a heaviness in her chest, a sense of impending doom.

She glanced down the table when she heard Joffrey bark at one of the serving men. She rolled her eyes and wondered if he would bark at her like that someday.

She adjusted the collar of her dress. She tugged and pulled but it strangled her.

 _It’s not the dress that’s choking me…it’s him. A lifetime of being chained to him_.

The platter of mutton was set in front of her. Her stomach roiled in rebellion and she waved it away.

But then, _he_ spoke.

Even now, as she sat there countless courses and endless minutes later, she could not quite believe it. He had come. Jon had come here…to Winterfell.

 _He came to steal me like Bael the Bard perhaps_.

Old Nan had told her that story once. A giddy tingling swept over her at the thought of being plucked from her bed like a rose and carried off beyond the Wall.

But then, something like fear twisted her tummy as well. That fear she’d felt when they’d first met, the thought of being carried away from her home and family and never seeing them again…it had made her cry then. She would not cry now but she feared leaving everything she knew and loved behind.

 _That’s not Jon. He wouldn’t steal me…not unless I asked it of him_ , she thought as courage returned.

She directed her eyes back towards him. He was dressed the same as any other man. Gone were his furs and skins. His hair was no longer pulled back but hung loose, the curls hanging to his jaw. He looked very handsome. He was anyway but his face and hands were cleaner than when she’d first seen him.

A wild and desperate notion took root. What if he could stay in Wintertown? Pretend he was a servant that decided to stay when the royal party left? What if he could seek work at the castle and then…

Sansa stopped herself before she could get too carried away. _That’s not him_.

Jon might be many things but instinct told her he was not the sort to carry on a prolonged ruse, to pretend indefinitely to be something he wasn’t. And, why should he? She didn’t even know for certain why he was here.

 _“Watch for me to leave,”_ she’d told him.

The waiting…it was a torment. But she knew she must wait until she was certain neither her parents, her septa nor Jory were paying her any mind.

Her mother had just summoned her to speak to the queen. She was very beautiful and she had said Sansa was a beauty, too.

At one time, Sansa might’ve been in awe of Queen Cersei. Perhaps not too many moons ago, Sansa would’ve thought her the picture of elegance and grace and wanted to be like her. But now, there was something in the queen’s smile that she found disconcerting.

“Have you bled yet?” the queen asked right after complimenting her on her sewing skills.

“Yes, Your Grace,” Sansa responded demurely.

She was four and ten. Naturally, she had. The question was rude though and Sansa observed her mother’s discomfort on her behalf. Sansa remembered her courtesies though and answered the queen’s remaining questions with a smile.

Once she was dismissed by her mother, she glanced around. Father was with Uncle Benjen and another lord. King Robert was drunk and laughing loudly with a serving woman in his lap. Joffrey sat with his sworn shield, a frightening looking man with burns on one side of his face. Robb and Theon were laughing together. Arya was up to some sort of mischief and Bran had disappeared. Rickon was asleep at the table.

 _Poor babe_ , Sansa thought, feeling a tug at her heart to go and take him to his bed.

“Take him to bed,” she whispered to herself as a plan formed.

Her eyes sought Jon. He sat near the rear of the hall where some guards and serving men had gathered and were drinking. His eyes were focused on King Robert.

 _Perhaps he is curious to see a king besides his own_.

Sansa had been unimpressed with the old drunk man after hearing her father’s tales of his friend. She wondered if Mance Rayder dressed finely and had a court of Wildling admirers that followed him about. She doubted it.

 _The chance might never be better. Look at me_ , she thought. _Please, look at me_.

As though she’d whispered in his ear, she saw his head turn towards her. Once she had his attention, she nodded meaningfully, hoping he would keep watching.

“Mother, shall I take Rickon to bed?” she asked sweetly.

“Yes, Sansa, that would be kind of you if you don’t mind.”

“No, Mother…I don’t mind.”

“What a good little dove,” Queen Cersei said to Mother.

Sansa curtsied to them both and moved down to where her youngest brother slept on. She helped Rickon to his feet, murmuring sweet words in his ear as she half dragged and half carried him from the hall, up the stairs and to his chamber. She was afraid to look over her shoulder to see if Jon followed. Her tummy was completely twisted in knots now.

_Will he follow me? Will he be so daring? And what will I do if he does?_

Once they’d arrived at Rickon’s chambers, she helped her little brother remove his boots and jerkin before she laid him on his bed being sure he was properly covered before leaving. She backed out the door, closing it with the utmost care as though she truly feared waking the child.

And when she turned, she yelped for there stood Jon right behind her.

“You frightened me!” she hissed, leaping away.

“I’m sorry,” he said as he blushed…right before he pulled her into his arms and kissed her hard on the lips.

Sansa reared back, looking quickly from side to side to see if the corridor was still empty.

“Have you lost your mind?! You can’t just kiss me here. What if someone saw?”

“Sansa…” he chuckled, “I snuck into your father’s castle dressed as a serving man because I’ve wanted to see you so desperately. I think it’s quite safe to say that I’ve lost my mind. It doesn’t matter now that we’re alone though. Surely, you don’t mean to deny me a kiss or two,” he rumbled before kissing her again.

She thought she should slap some sense into him or at least shove him away. But instead, the sound of his low, husky voice and the way that he held her to him and kissed her with wild abandon, made Sansa forget all the reasons why this was reckless and stupid. She allowed herself to melt into his arms.

“Where’s Ghost?” she asked softly a few minutes later when they were forced to draw breath and she had her fingers twined in his soft curls.

“In the woods waiting for me,” he said. He cupped her cheek and smiled so sweetly at her. The adoration in his eyes was clear.

And it made his sudden scowl so unfathomable. He straightened, looking vexed and Sansa could not guess why.

“Why were you holding his arm?” he asked gruffly.

“Whose arm? Oh! You mean the prince.”

“Aye. Why were you touching that twat at all?”

Sansa ignored his vulgar language for the moment and buried the sudden urge to laugh at his obvious jealousy.

“Mother and Father said he would escort me to the feast,” she replied evasively, wishing Jon would hold her close, smile again and kiss her some more.

“Did he come here to steal you?”

“Steal me? The prince is no wildling,” she laughed. “There is talk of a betrothal but…”

“No,” he growled. “He can’t have you. You’re mine.”

“I am not!” she responded hotly. “I belong to no man at present. And, if you’re going to act like a beast, you can leave.”

She gave him a shove for good measure. How dare he act like that?

His mouth twitched into a smile and his anger evaporated. “Sweet Sansa…kissed by fire,” he laughed softly. “Forgive me. I know you don’t belong to me. You were born to be a free woman same as any of the Free Folk, I'd say.  I’ve thought of nothing all night but your lips and now I act like a jealous fool.”

Her initial fury faded and she let him kiss her again. This time the kisses were sweeter, softer and more loving. He kissed a path along her cheek to her ear and nibbled on the lobe. Sansa gasped at how such a soft and ticklish thing could heat her blood. She felt desire pooling in her belly. His strong arms held her close but she wanted more. She pressed herself against him and was pleased by his moan.

But before madness could completely take over, Sansa stepped back.

“What are you doing here?” she asked curiously.

“I…I came to see you,” he said with a touch of hesitancy.

“Why would you risk yourself like this just to see me?”

“Because I cannot stop thinking of you,” he muttered while stroking her cheek. “Sweet Sansa, my beautiful lady…I have thought of you day and night since I met you.”

Sansa wanted to tell him he shouldn’t. That he was a madman to risk capture this way. If they were discovered here, a servant kissing a lord’s daughter, the best he could hope for was the Wall. And if they discovered what he truly was, he’d be dead.

But instead of saying any of that, she merely said, “I’ve thought of you, too.” She took his hand and tugged him down the corridor towards her chambers. “Come with me quickly,” she urged.

 

* * *

 

 

 _“I…I came to see you,”_ he’d said. _It is not completely a lie_ , he told himself.

He didn’t think he should give her the real reason that he was sent here. He wondered if there was any harm in telling Sansa that Mance wanted to know why the king had travelled all this way though.

 _No…if you are captured, she might tell if she thought it would help save you. I will not betray Mance’s confidence_.

He felt enough guilt for abandoning the dull business of watching King Robert get drunk and fondle every pair of teats that passed his way. But he could not resist the opportunity to slink away with Sansa, especially if doing so might lead to Jon getting to fondle her teats.

He had listened to Lord Stark talking with various knights and lords. He’d seen him talking with his brother the Crow, too.

But if there was news being discussed that might interest Mance, he’d heard little of it. He’d made note of all he’d heard in his mind though in case something might be important to Mance.

But Sansa was why he had volunteered to come this far south and why he’d volunteered for the dangerous business of infiltrating the castle. He felt a pang of shame.

 _You are not being loyal to your people, Jon. You are only a boy chasing a maid when you should be a man doing what Mance has asked_.

His guilt left him though as Sansa led him along the quiet corridor. His mouth went dry as they entered a large room, dominated by a bed and fireplace. Sansa closed and barred the door.

“My septa might come looking for me but perhaps we shall be lucky,” she said before she rushed back to his arms.

Worries over Mance and all the rest of it flew away as Jon gathered Lady Sansa to him once more.

“My sweet lady,” he murmured before kissing her again.

He brushed her lips with his tongue and she gasped. He took the parting of her lips as surrender and kissed her deeply, tasting her sweet mouth and moving his tongue against her own. At first, she seemed like she might pull away but as he continued, she moaned into his mouth. No sound could’ve inflamed him more.

She had no practice at this sort of kissing but Jon was eager to teach her.

“What was that?” she asked bewildered and with sweet innocence.

“Just another sort of kissing,” he replied, licking his lips. A dark cloud entered his thoughts then and he felt another stab of jealously. “Has your prince not kissed you like that?” he asked harshly.

“My prince has not kissed me at all,” she laughed.

Jon frowned and asked, “Is he going to be _your_ prince then?”

“The king has suggested a betrothal but my father has not yet agreed.”

“And what do you want, Lady Sansa?” he asked, wishing that his heart did not pain him so at the thoughts of her in any other man’s arms, let alone that pompous ass with the cruel look in his eyes.

“I wish to be free to marry a man that I love,” she replied, stroking his cheek now. His jealousy and anger dried up again. How did she manage to soothe the beast inside with no more than a glance or soft touch? He leaned forward, reassured until she spoke again. “But that is just a dream. I must do as I am bid.”

“I could take you with me,” he said in desperation…though he knew how foolish it would be.

She smiled sweetly at his words. “Where would we go?” she asked as though she truly was considering it.

He cupped her cheek and stared into her vivid blue eyes. He had no answers to give her. He could not steal her now in the heat of the moment with no plan.

If he stole Winterfell’s Daughter, they would likely be captured by midday this far south of the Wall even if they rode all night. Tormund and the rest would be captured as well and executed. A poor way to repay his fellows all because of his love for a lady he could not keep.

Even if they made it to the Wall, how could he ask this gentle girl to make that climb with him? They both would likely fall to their deaths because he would never let her fall alone.

Sansa stared back at him and answered her own question. “We won’t be going anywhere tonight, will we?”

He bowed his head in grief. Was this a cruel jape of the gods? Why did he have to find her in the woods that day at all if they were only to know paradise for a few stolen moments? Why did he have to fall in love with a girl he could not have?

“It’s alright,” she whispered, leaning against him now.

“No, it’s not,” he choked, holding her tightly and burying his face into her hair to hide the tears in his eyes. “I would make you mine…but I have nothing to give you. You’re a fine lady living in a castle. I live in an unforgiving place, in tents most of the time. I couldn’t do that to you.” He swallowed hard and looked her in the eye again. “I…I love you, Sansa. I love you too much to condemn you to a life filled with such hardship and away from your family…all because I want you.”

“I love you, Jon,” she sobbed. “I wouldn’t care for fine things if I could have you. I wish…”

He kissed her once more before she could finish her sentence and break his resolve. He took her hands in his and placed them over his heart.

“Sansa…if there is any way for us to be together, I will find it. I will find a way. I swear it.”

“And if you do not?” she asked forlornly.

Before he could respond a sharp rapping at her door startled them both.

“Lady Sansa?” a male’s voice called.

 

* * *

 

 

Sansa felt the blood drain from her face and panic gripped her heart. She must protect him. He could not be discovered.

“I do not know who it is. Hide,” she commanded and Jon moved to the shadows of the far corner and concealed himself behind a tapestry.

Sansa patted down her hair and wiped the tears from her cheeks. It could be Robb or Jory checking on her. They would know she had been crying but perhaps she could convince them to leave her be for tonight.

She unbarred the door and swung it open. Her mouth fell open in shock when she recognized Prince Joffrey.

“My prince?” she murmured and dipped into a graceful curtsey while she scrambled to figure out what brought him here and how he even knew where to find her chambers.

“You left early,” he said with a bold look up and down her body. He walked right past her into her chambers and closed the door.

“You shouldn’t be here, my prince,” she said. She kept her tone playful though. Something whispered in her ear that this was a dangerous little game and she must watch herself.

“Mother says we are to be married,” he said.

Sansa’s eyes flicked over to the tapestry where Jon was hidden. “I had not heard that, my prince. When I last spoke to my lord father, he had not…”

“Your father?” Joffrey scoffed. “Lord Stark will do as he is told. My father has asked him to be his Hand, did you know?”

He paced around her chamber. He picked up her brush from her dressing table and laid it down. He fingered the lace on one of her old doll’s dresses. She wanted him to go away and not touch her things…not touch her.

“I had not heard that,” Sansa said.

“No…I don’t suppose they tell you things like that. Girls don’t really need to worry about such matters.”

Sansa stifled her rage at his words and plastered a smile on her face. “No, my prince. I try not to worry over things that don’t concern me. Now, if you’ll forgive me…I’m quite exhausted. I retired early to…”

Joffrey looked up from his inspection of the heavy copper bowl she used to wash her face each morning. His eyes narrowed.

“I think we should get to know each other…before we marry. Don’t you?”

“I’m sure we’ll have time for that, my prince. Perhaps it will be a lengthy betrothal,” she stammered as he moved closer to her…ever closer.

“Why?” he laughed. “Mother said you were already a woman grown.”

Sansa shrank before him as he stalked her. She hoped to reach the door but she was not quite there.

 _I could run. I could scream. But then they might discover Jon_.

Sansa felt the cold stone wall at her back and froze. Joffrey grasped her wrists tightly. His eyes were glazed but full of hate. He reeked of wine. His lips were pulled back in a sneer.

 _You don’t want me. You only wish to defile me_.

“I could bed you tonight and put a babe in you. We could marry at the Sept of Baelor as soon as we reach Kings Landing…couldn’t have my future queen bearing my bastard now, could I?” His laughter was full of malevolence.

“Let me go,” she said in warning. He looked as though he didn’t understand her…until she shoved him roughly away and slapped his face.

“You little bitch!” he hissed and lunged for her.

Sansa drew a deep breath to scream and prepared herself for a blow…but it never came.

A loud clang and Joffrey dropped to the floor at her feet. Jon stood behind him with the copper bowl in his hands.

“Are you alright?” he asked in concern. His question was in complete contrast to the murderous look in his eye.

“I’m fine. Jon…we’ve got to get you out of here.” He didn’t move at first and she took the bowl from his hands as he continued to stare down at Joffrey. His nostrils were flared and his breathing shallow. “Jon,” she said again. “Please…you must leave.”

“You can’t marry him,” he said.

“I won’t. Not ever. I’ll tell my father what he did. I’ll claim some stranger, a servant or guard I’d never seen heard me scream and came to my rescue but fled when he realized who he’d struck. But right now, I’ve got to get you out of here.”

He nodded numbly and she opened her chamber door. _The Hound…will he be lurking about? Or some other guard?_

Sansa pulled Jon from the room by the hand and they fled down the corridor. Her heart was fluttering away in fear but she knew she must not panic. She would get him back down to the Great Hall. He could leave the castle from there, just a servant from some other House leaving for the night. Then, she’d return to her room and scream. Hopefully, Joffrey would remain unconscious that long. She’d tell the truth about Joffrey and then spin her tale and then…

Lost in her planning, she turned the corner swiftly and ran straight into the solid chest of Jory Cassel. He was alone at least.

“Lady Sansa,” he said with a smile until he noted the young man at her side.

Jon’s temporary trance dissolved and he moved into a crouched defensive stance. Jory reached for his sword and opened his mouth to shout for aid.

“No!” she cried. “Don’t!”

A flood of words came pouring from her mouth. _This will work just as well_ , she told herself. _Jory will believe me. It’s only half a lie_.

Jon told a lie of his own when prompted.

“Come, lad,” Jory said when Sansa had told him all that she could. “I’ll see you outside and you can return to Lord Karstark’s camp from there. There will be bad feelings over this between the Lannisters and us. I must get Lady Sansa to her father before the prince is found.”

They had no more than a moment to say good-bye as Jory stood impatiently nearby.

“Thank you for helping me,” she said as she took his hand.

“Of course, my lady,” he responded.

Sansa could not let him go without a soft kiss on his cheek. She didn’t care what Jory thought. It seemed like something a lady might do for a knight who had come to her aid. He was no knight in name perhaps but he was as good a man as any she had ever met.

“Don’t marry him,” he begged as she pulled back from the kiss.  "I can't bear to think of you..." 

“Never,” she replied.

“If they force you…”

“They won’t.” Jon looked sullen and like he would refuse to leave her. She knew well enough he’d be asking for another kiss if he thought he could get away with it. “Find a way, Jon,” she whispered.

His eyes sought hers and a ghost of a smile appeared. He nodded and then turned to disappear into the darkened courtyard.

 

* * *

 

 

Lord Stark was enraged by what the prince had tried to do to his beloved daughter. All talk of a betrothal came to an end. The queen gave Sansa cold looks. The prince stayed out of sight for much of the time. The story was spread about that Prince Joffrey had been injured in a fall.

Ned Stark and his old friend, Robert, quarreled over the position of Hand but in the end, they parted on good terms. The royal party left Winterfell a few days later and Lord Stark remained as Warden of the North.

He had sought out Lord Karstark with Jory and asked to speak with every male servant in his party. He would protect the lad's identity but he wanted to thank him for his intervention on his daughter’s behalf. But none of Karstark’s servants were the young man Jory had seen that night.

"A mystery knight," Jory japed...and Eddard felt a chill at the words.

"An uninvited guest perhaps," he muttered.

He thought he might ask Sansa for more information. Perhaps the lad had just lied about which House he served out of fear.  He shook off his apprehension.

Ned Stark scratched his head as he and Jory made their way back into the keep. Bright red hair caught his eye and he watched his eldest daughter scurry to the godswood alone. The old gods had never been her gods but she seemed to seek the godswood more and more of late. He sighed and told himself to save his questions for another day.

 

* * *

 

 

Two moons later, Jon made his report to Mance of what he’d seen in Winterfell.

Mance was shrewd and his eyes were piercing. Jon felt naked and exposed as he concealed and outright lied at times.  But in the end, Mance had clapped him on the back and told him to get some rest. 

Their party of raiders had fled the Wolfswood that very night when Jon had told Tormund that he feared he might’ve been discovered.

He had told Ghost to stay though.

“Direwolves can’t climb the Wall,” he said, patting his old friend on the head. “Stay here and watch over my lady if you will. There’s plenty of game here for you. Stay safe and I’ll come and find you as soon as I can,” he promised.

If the wolf understood him, Jon didn’t know. He liked to think he did.

The night they had climbed the Wall, there was a full moon. The ice glowed in the moonlight, an ethereal blue that reminded Jon of her eyes.

He stood on top of the Wall while the others rested and swore to himself and her once more.

 _I will find a way_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be another part (or two) of this series so they will be meeting again :) 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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